Durin stepped out of the rift, glancing at the men and women sitting or standing in the hallway. Some recognized him, like Hakfan Kriggen.
This king's eyes were sunken at this moment, old beyond recognition, the handsome sleek hair he once had gone, leaving only a wild explosion of hair.
Of course, the woman willing to help him comb his hair was now lying in bed, clinging to life.
But when he saw Durin, he still rose up to his feet: "You're late... Gala has fallen into a coma once again."
"Not too late, as I've come to bid her farewell," Durin replied.
After speaking, he extended his hand, and a gigantic clock appeared before Durin. He turned the hour hand with his hand, and when the room echoed with coughing once again, he walked towards the door of the ward.
A young person tried to stop Durin, but the reprimanding voice from inside the ward belonging to Lady Gala cleared the way for Durin.
